


Partners Dancing to Different Tunes

by CaketinTheHobo



Category: Genghis Khan - Miike Snow (Music Video)
Genre: Angst, Death, M/M, Pining, also i left names ambiguous so sorry if this gets confusing welp, im the worst probably, in theory the ending can be viewed as ambiguous BUT, spies and villains make the worst lovers lets be real, the "what if agent didn't turn around" au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6112868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaketinTheHobo/pseuds/CaketinTheHobo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your plan won’t work,” he’d called - young and idealistic.<br/>“You don’t know that,” had been the reply.<br/>It was the first time he’d ever met someone from the opposing side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners Dancing to Different Tunes

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry

They’d been playing this game for years.

This  _ cat and mouse,  _ this  _ dance,  _ this  _ duel  _ between opposing sides. He wouldn’t call it good and evil - they’d both been in the business too long to differentiate between their sides anymore. But the fact remained, they were  _ always  _ on different sides.

Romeo and Juliet, perhaps, if Romeo carried around a silenced pistol and Juliet something of a much higher calibre.

Romeo and Juliet also didn’t wait very long before they decide to elope.

Perhaps that was where they went wrong.

He still remembered the first time they met - he’d been a newly minted agent, his nemesis-to-be something similar, a recruit in the lower ranks of the organisation.

He would say the rest was history, but it really wasn’t. It was there for their memories and their memories alone.

He remembered the first time they’d faced each other alone. An impasse, both holding a gun to each other in the cold open expanse of a warehouse.

Funnily enough, he couldn’t remember how either of them had gotten there. Time had eclipsed the reason for why that first meeting had occurred. 

“Your plan won’t work,” he’d called - young and idealistic. Nowadays he wouldn’t even bother. At least, not with anyone else.

“You don’t know that,” had been the reply.

It was the first time he’d ever met someone from the opposing side. In his idealistic days, he’d called them  _ Villain.  _ The name had stuck.

Villain’s voice had been calm - a lot calmer sounding than his own had  _ felt.  _ Self-assured, confident.

But they’d both let each other go that day, acknowledging the impasse they were at and leaving via opposite doors.

And that would have been it, if they hadn’t managed to capture him at the end of the month.

He’d escaped, thankfully, but not before he’d had a brief conversation with Villain.

“We meet again, Agent,” he’d said.

“Your plan won’t work,” he’d responded. A hint of a smile on his opponent’s face at that.

“You don’t know that,” Villain had said.

He’d smiled, and then made his escape, bloodying teeth and knuckles and leaving Villain behind to explain how they’d lost a prisoner within five minutes of capturing him.

Some part of him hoped the punishment wasn’t too bad.

And over the years, it had kept happening. They’d kept meeting, never seeming to get the opportunity to kill each other like the enemies they were supposed to be, instead playing the same game over and over.

Somewhere along the lines, he’d found himself growing to like his opponent.

“Your plan won’t work,” he called out, on their sixty-eighth meeting, stood on a cliff overlooking a very deep ravine, back to the plummeting depths to face Villain and his subordinates. They’d risen in their respective ranks since that first meeting, but always seemed to end up at an impasse, a standoff.

Villain had smiled - the same smile as ever - now bordered by a golden frame, a plate arching over an eyebrow and his nose. 

Their game was not a gentle one, after all.

“You don’t know that,” the same reply, the same  _ voice. _

He’d laughed, both of them knowing the outcome of those words.

And as he’d fallen backwards off the cliff, diving toward the river at the bottom of the ravine, he was already looking forward to their next meeting.

He wondered sometimes if it was strange to fall in love with someone whose name you didn’t know.

The next time they met, he wasn’t even sure if he would call it a meeting. It was more of a glance across a crowded room, like something out of an Austen novel, except instead of falling in love they both blew each other’s covers in an instant.

(How a man with a golden faceplate could even  _ keep  _ a cover was beyond him.)

They’d met in the middle of the floor as a song had started - had then immediately taken positions and danced a dance together. If they caught the eyes of the crowd, they didn’t notice.

He wasn’t sure if it was a meeting because it had been  _ more,  _ it had been a few minutes where they could pretend they weren’t on opposite sides of a conflict that ebbed and flowed like the tides.

They’d not spoken, had focused their gazes over each other’s shoulders, but danced perfectly together like they’d done it a thousand times before.

They had, in a way.

The song ended, they parted once more, some unspoken agreement that tonight they would let each other go about their separate businesses for tonight.

“Your plan won’t work,” he’d said, voice soft, barely audible above the strains of the next song.

“You don’t know that,” had been the automatic reply, equally as soft.

Was it a meeting? Or a dream?

And then came their next meeting. 

Somehow he’d known it was going to be different from the start.

They’d captured him, again. That wasn’t different. He’d almost expected it, the way his latest mission had gone.

But instead of taking him to his usual cell, he’d found himself waking up on a table in a large, round room. A laser gun pointed at him.

And then Villain had entered. He’d been ready to fire off with his usual phrase, a smile almost on his lips, but something had been different. Unsettling,  _ wrong.  _ Villain wasn’t looking at him.

Instead he turned his back, faced a control panel. And then the machinery of the laser had started charging.

Had he got it all wrong? Had their game been merely that, a game?

When Villain eventually turned round, his face had been unreadable, nothing of their previous meetings evident on it at all. 

He held the control for the laser up, looked as though he were about to press the button, and-

A buzzer sounded. End of shift.

And then he was left for a night, trying to figure out what he’d been doing with Villain all these years.

Some part of him wondered if he’d been ordered to kill him. But he would have  _ said,  _ he would have given a  _ sign,  _ surely? That this was above them, that he had to follow orders or end up facing something worse.

But there had been nothing. A calm and neutral demeanor. Nothing to hint that he in any way was going to stop and help him, or even acknowledge what they’d had for the better part of six years.

He might not have expected the help, but the lack of  _ anything  _ had changed what he’d believed to be one of the more stable factors of his life.

In the midst of it all, he knew that if he saw Villain, he would be all right in the end. They’d share some words -  _ those same words -  _ and then they would part.

Normally he’d feel comfort after their meetings.

Tonight he had a cold room, a cold table, and a fitful night’s sleep.

The morning brought Villain with it, and the cold feeling in his stomach that maybe he  _ had  _ been getting it wrong all these years.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t share the usual words.

The laser powered up again, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want Villain to be the last thing he saw, this  _ reminder  _ of what he’d been clinging to for so long.

The hope that,  _ maybe,  _ there was someone out there for him after all.

The moments dragged on - he almost opened his eyes again and yelled at him to just  _ end it,  _ but then his restraints clicked open.

There wasn’t time to comprehend what was going on. He scrambled off the table, away from the laser, spinning to face the guards that were now slowly advancing on him.

Only for  _ Villain  _ to raise his hand, stopping them from shooting him.

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t acknowledge him in any other way.

And  _ he _ didn’t call out any words. Didn’t say what he normally said. Instead he slowly stepped up the concrete steps, carefully watching the group of guards who’d been ordered not to shoot him, but were still keeping their eyes on him anyway.

Villain didn’t turn around.

And as the silence and time dragged out between them, he didn’t stay to see if he would.

And as he fled the base, as the commands to kill him came through the channels again and bullets rattled off the stonework, he couldn’t tell if it was the cold making his eyes water, or something else.

After that, things were different.

He didn’t see Villain for a long time. Stopped  _ expecting  _ to see him, forced himself to stop looking for him whenever he clashed with enemy forces.

He wanted to say it was better that way. He wasn’t so sure, but as long as he kept telling himself that, he could survive.

 

He had four months to convince himself that he was surviving before he saw Villain again.

He didn’t even  _ see  _ him, not to start with. It was a group operation - he and two other agents were tasked with infiltrating a base under cover of night to assassinate a target. Dark clothes - he chose a blue turtleneck, dark trousers, boots. No lights allowed, just the cold metal gleam of their weapons in starlight.

It took them longer than expected. They were slowed in the forest, patrols were more numerous than expected.

Their target had a visitor, apparently. The agent who’d gone forward reported it back through the one radio.

He and his partner decided to split up, cover more ground. He went north, deeper into the forest, while his partner headed south towards the lake, hoping to skirt it to get better access to the base exterior. The scouting agent had taken the most direct route, but he’d been dropped in a day before and had a relatively leisurely time getting into position.

He was halfway to the base when he heard the report over the radio. Agent 2, lakeside, had caught sight of the visitor to the base.

_ “It’s the one with the gold plate.” _

He was already running before the order from higher up came through the radio. He didn’t hear it; didn’t need to.

_ “Take him out if you get the shot. He’s more important than our original target. Agents 1 and 3, move into position to back up 2.” _

Time both sped up and slowed down as he raced through the forest, not caring if he made noise or blew his cover. Agent 2 was a good shot. He wouldn’t miss.

And despite  _ everything  _ that had happened in their last meeting, he knew he couldn’t bear to be a part of what could likely be Villain’s demise.

No, he would stop it. No matter the cost.

Perhaps this was what they’d been heading towards all along. One racing to save the other, not knowing if the other even reciprocated their feelings. Not knowing if they would even get there in time.

He stuttered to a stop as he reached the lakeside - he’d somehow not picked up any pursuit, and had a precious few seconds to scan the shore for either Agent 2, 3, or Villain.

The agents were too well hidden, too well trained. Even with dawn approaching, they would be nigh-impossible to see in their dark clothing and concealed positions.

He saw  _ him  _ almost immediately, on the eastern edge of the lake, with a small contingent of guards.

After four months of nothing, it was like having his breath ripped from his lungs. Everything he thought he’d pushed down came back in a single, terrifying instant.

Enemy, lover, whatever Villain was, he  _ couldn’t  _ lose him.

So he set off again, boots digging into the mud of the lakeshore, chest heaving with strained breaths, racing towards the love of his life.

He distantly heard Agent 2 over the comm.

_ “Shot’s lined up and ready. Firing in 3-” _

Villain saw him, their eyes met as he sprinted the distance that seemed impossibly short and long.

_ “2.” _

Villain’s guards raised their guns, aiming at him, but he stopped them, held them at bay. A mixture of confusion and almost  _ relief  _ on his face.

_ “1.” _

He closed the distance between them, hurling himself the last few feet to collide bodily with his mortal enemy - his only true love - his companion in a dance six and a half years long -

And fell.

 

He didn’t hit the ground. No- Villain  _ caught  _ him, and for one blissful moment he could pretend it was just another move in the dance.

Villain was shouting something, his comms were shouting something else, but honestly he didn’t care. He found himself being lowered to the ground, still in Villain’s arms.

“So that’s what it’s like,” he found himself saying, his own voice rather distant.

He dimly registered movement nearby - Villain sending some of his henchmen back to the base. And then Villain’s hands were on him, searching for the wound and pressing down upon it. Agent 2 had been a good shot. The bullet would have probably pierced Villain’s heart. He had a height advantage over Villain, though.

“It won’t work,” he said softly, wincing as pressure was applied, blood seeping between Villain’s fingers.

“You don’t know that,” was the instant reply; sharper and harsher than he’d ever heard it before, but still gloriously  _ theirs.  _ He laughed, never so glad to hear those four words in his life, and then Villain was smiling too. Then his laugh turned into a cough, something bloody and wet rising in his lungs.

“Maybe that’s-” he began, “maybe that’s where we got it wrong. Always waiting on the uncertainty of those words.”

“Last time,” Villain said, moving his other hand to his face, “I- I  _ waited  _ hear you say those words. I - they - the higher ups - they found out about Monte Carlo. Wanted to test my loyalty. And I  _ couldn’t say - “  _

It was like a weight he didn’t know existed had been lifted from his chest. That he’d been  _ wrong,  _ that maybe there  _ was  _ hope for people like him.

“The last time we met,” he said forcefully, raising his own hand to cup Villain’s cheek, absently noticing the bloody print he was leaving, “was at a ballroom in Monte Carlo. We shared a dance, said our words, and parted.”

He wasn’t sure if Villain would understand - wasn’t sure if he had to energy to  _ make  _ him understand - that he was sorry - that he  _ forgave him -  _ but the smile that crossed Villain’s face showed that he did.

“Don’t blame yourself,” he said eventually. “I wouldn’t have chosen this any other way. Of-” he coughed again, tasted blood - “Of all the enemies I could have fallen in love with, I’m glad it was you.”

He could feel Villain’s tears under his hand, he brushed them away with his thumb.

Dawn was breaking, and the sun was rising, reflecting off the lake in a mixture of sparkling pinks, blues, and  _ gold. _

“Normally-” he began, struggling to form the words, ignoring Villain’s attempts to make him be quiet, “normally I’d ask sometime after the first date, - but - but we’ve had about 70 now - and I wondered - I wondered - if - if you would let me-”

He didn’t get to finish; the gentle brush of Villain’s lips against his own cut off any words he might have spoken. It was soft, sweet, so unlike the nature of the game they played, of the dance they danced for their respective sides.

For a first - and last - kiss, he wouldn’t have taken anything else.

After all, what better way to die, than with the taste of your lover’s kiss on your lips?

**Author's Note:**

> im really sorry.
> 
> also i had an idea to write an epilogue of sorts dealing w/ villain after but idk. comment if you want it?  
> also u can totally say that agent just dramatically passed out.
> 
>  
> 
> also also im sorry if anyone here wants a corvi et picae update. instead have sad stories about spies and villains.


End file.
